Willis gives little trouble.  He seldom criticises, but when he does his criticism is always of a valuable nature; and he is particularly courteous and helpful to young officers.  But, like lesser men, he has his fads.  These are two—­feet and cookery.  He has been known to call a private out of the ranks on a route-march and request him to take his boots off for purposes of public display.  “A soldier marches on two things,” he announces—­“his feet and his stomach.”  Then he calls up another man and asks him if he knows how to make a sea-pie.  The man never does know, which is fortunate, for otherwise General Willis would not be able to tell him.  After that he trots happily away, to ask some one else.

However, here we are face to face with General Freeman.  Immediate action is called for.  Captain Blaikie flings an order over his shoulder to the subaltern in command of the leading platoon—­

“Pass back word that this road is under shell fire.  Move!”

—­and rides forward to meet the General.

In ten seconds the road behind him is absolutely clear, and the men are streaming out to right and left in half-platoons.  Waddell’s platoon has the hardest time, for they were passing a quickset hedge when the order came.  However, they hurl themselves blasphemously through, and double on, scratched and panting.

“Good morning, sir!” says Captain Blaikie, saluting.

“Good morning!” says General Freeman.  “What was that last movement?”

“The men are taking ‘artillery’ formation, sir.  I have just passed the word down that the road is under shell fire.”

“Quite so.  But don’t you think you ought to keep some of your company in rear, as a supporting line?  I see you have got them all up on one front.”

By this time A Company is advancing in its original direction, but split up into eight half-platoons in single file—­four on each side of the road, at intervals of thirty yards.  The movement has been quite smartly carried out.  Still, a critic must criticise or go out of business.  However, Captain Blaikie is an old hand.

“I was assuming that my company formed part of a battalion, sir,” he explained.  “There are supposed to be three other companies in rear of mine.”

“I see.  Still, tell two of your sections to fall back and form a supporting line.”

Captain Blaikie, remembering that generals have little time for study of such works as the new drill-book, and that when General Freeman says “section” he probably means “platoon,” orders Numbers Two and Four to fall back.  This manoeuvre is safely accomplished.

“Now, let me see them close on the road.”

Captain Blaikie blows a whistle, and slaps himself on the top of the head.  In three minutes the long-suffering platoons are back on the road, extracting thorns from their flesh and assuaging the agony of their abrasions by clandestine massage.

General Freeman rides away, and the column moves on.  Two minutes later Captain Wagstaffe doubles up from the rear to announce that General Hardy is only two hundred yards behind.